


Tremors

by Beastmouth



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Horny Teenagers, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastmouth/pseuds/Beastmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon Park is halfway through his final year in High School. Except for being regularly shoved and trapped into his own locker, not managing to balance sleep and studying, and being mostly without friends at lunch, only because the one friend he has seems unable to be anywhere but on his knees in a bathroom stall, his life is spectacularly monotone and even bland. But then Eddie Gluskin asks to tutor him in Math.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hands and Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lovely artwork of nokgi @ tumblr. Go check them out right now!
> 
> Special thanks to Froody for that one Trager line. Bless you, bruh.  
> If you’re wondering why Miles is so promiscuous…. it’s at the fault of our Outlast group chat and nothing else. We gave Miles an endless thirst and we’re not sorry.

Movies tell you your High School experience is underage drinking, wild parties that has you ending up at the station, losing your virginity in ways you never thought imaginable, and making decisions that will either ruin or life or have you looking back at them fondly.

But that’s what movies tell you, and for the past years High School has been nothing like that.

Unless your name is Miles Upshur, but the last time Waylon checked, his name wasn’t Miles. Granted, Miles would occasionally attempt to drag him into his life of semi-popularity and getting laid every other day, the only problem was Waylon’s inability to skip studying in favor of socializing without a fair share of guilt. It had a way of putting any such activities to a screeching halt.

His grades were of greatest importance if he wanted to get into a good college – but even that was more like desperately groping in complete darkness, with today’s economy. A degree didn’t guarantee a job, which made things all that much shittier. At least he knew what he _wanted_ to get into, and there was a high enough demand for computer programmers in modern society, what with the digitalization of pretty much everything.

He had, at the least, a glimmer of a future.

Miles, on the other hand… Well, he did keep making jokes about becoming a pornstar and actually receiving pay for sucking dick on the breaks, but Waylon much doubted he was being serious. There was one vague memory of him mentioning getting into reporting, and it didn’t seem like such a bad idea, considering the way that he somehow managed to know everything happening to everyone in school.

In general, it wasn’t all that bad. You had your standard bunch of weird teachers - and Mount Massive High had plenty of those – your social cliques of popular, less popular, and not popular kids. Dropouts, delinquents, jocks and nerds all alike. Waylon was pretty sure he’d seen some goth kids around, too.

Waylon himself didn’t really fit into any of those categories, at least not in his own opinion. He was more like a bystander that went along with his business and didn’t delve too much into other’s. Not an outcast – there were people he could talk to, even if they weren’t necessarily _friends_ – but more of a wallflower. He was good at watching people.

If only he was good at watching the hallway while retrieving things from his locker. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to be taken off guard when a hand pressed against his back and gave a mighty shove forward; straight into his own locker. As his nose collided rather painfully against the back of it, the sound of it slamming shut echoed in his ears.

It was to no surprise when the mocking laughter of one Jeremy Blaire resounded from outside the locker, and Waylon could do little but give him a tired look through the grates of the locker. The bully slammed a fist next to the grate – a lame scare tactic, most likely – and grinned at him.

“See you in class, nerd,” he said, and there was absolutely no possible way for him to be more cheesy. Waylon wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry in despair from the amount of second-hand embarrassment he felt for the simple soul. He said nerd. _Nerd._

Once he was done questioning his faith in humanity, Waylon realized that he was locked inside an uncomfortable dark space, _again_ , and unless he wanted to wait for the off-chance that someone were to walk by, he would have to text Miles to come get him out.

Swearing softly, Waylon somehow managed to fish his phone out of his back pocket, despite how cramped it was in the locker. He nearly dropped it, but through some sort of miracle he managed to bring it up to his face – not without being blinded by the light of the display screen, first – and bring up Miles’ number.

He quickly sent the text ‘ _I’m stuck in the locker again. Come get me out’_ and managed to somehow wiggle around enough to slide down to sit on the bottom as he waited for his rescue.

After about a minute, his phone vibrated in his hands.

_[Miles Dickshur:]_

_1:23 PM - ‘ur a fucking loser’_

Ever so supportive, Miles. Pierced right through his heart, that one. At least it meant he was on his way, which was something. Sighing, Waylon replied with a reminder of just how much of an ass Miles truly was and stuffed his phone away. If he was late for class because of this, he would seriously consider finding a way to get back at Jeremy.  Probably not a good idea, but he was really fucking tired of going through this same scenario every other week.

It felt like the entire afternoon had passed by when finally the sound of approaching footsteps came like a Heaven’s blessing. It probably hadn’t been more than a couple of minutes, but time really seems to drag on when you’re trapped in a locker with no better entertainment than the shitty games on your phone. He heard quite an audible sigh and the cluttering noise of fingers fiddling with the padlock, and he was drenched in light when the locker door opened.

“Back here again, are we?” said Miles, sounding ever so pleased with himself to have Waylon even further indebted to him. “Might as well sign yourself up as apparel; you seem to spend most of your existence in lockers.”

“Shut up and help me up,” Waylon grunted in reply, thrusting out his hand at him to further emphasize his demand. Miles rolled his eyes and grabbed the offered limb to pull his friend up, clicking his tongue as he did.

“That’s what I get? No ‘thank you Miles’ or ‘I’m so happy to see you, Miles’? And here I thought we were buddies.”

“Only because you’re just slightly better than Jeremy.”

He made a pouty face at that, feigning hurt.

“Ouch.”

Waylon just smacked his shoulder and proceeded to re-adjust his tousled clothing; his shirt had slid halfway up his back from his sitting down in the locker.

“Only difference between me and him is that he’s got a massive stick up his ass while I’ve got-“

“I know, Miles. I know,” Waylon interrupted, not exactly feeling in the mood to listen to Miles’ sexual frivolities. “You’ve got class now, right?”

“20 minutes ago, actually. Not that I care if Steve writes me up as absent anyway.”

“It’s like you want to fail all your subjects.”

Miles shrugged nonchalantly, which earned him a frustrated sigh from Waylon’s part. The idiot just couldn’t be made to care about things he didn’t find interesting.

“Well, I gotta get to Trager’s class now, and I don’t wanna be late,” Waylon said, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulder. “Thanks for getting me out.”

“You’re welcome.”

Right when he passed, Miles thought it appropriate to plant a nice, resounding smack right across Waylon’s buttocks. It didn’t even phase him anymore, which could be both a good and bad thing, so he just turned on his heel. “Miles,” he said, exasperated, but the perpetrator just shrugged at him with an expression that suggested he had no idea what he was so upset about. Waylon could only half-glare at him as he swaggered away like the leather jacket asshole he was.

“This fucking child,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he continued down the hall.

It didn’t take long to get to Trager’s class, fortunately, and Waylon soon found a seat conveniently placed to the left in the middle row, from the teacher’s desk. Trager himself didn’t seem to be there, yet, and the classroom was full of idle chatter and students loitering about in groups, looking and sounding like any regular class would.

The relaxed atmosphere was broken when Trager more or less glided into the room – there was no other way to describe his walking, it was like he was just sliding across the floor – smartly dressed and donning a particularly hideous pair of round glasses. His hair looked like it had given up on staying on his head long ago, what with the bald patch at the very top, and was pulled back into a lazy ponytail.

Not a moment before taking his place behind the teacher’s desk did he toss what looked to be an arm onto it.

"Okay kids, see here, this is the arm of the last student who came in late.” Almost immediately a generous portion of the class started to give each other mildly concerned looks. “Nonono, I'm just joshin’ ya; it’s just a chimp arm. I like how quick you guys are reacting though, good sign." He sounded like he was bored by the world and entertained by his own self at the same time. By the way he kept babbling so nonchalantly, he probably just liked to hear himself talk.

“If you kids could take your seats so we can start slicing some flesh, that’ll be spectacular.”

Out of all the weird teachers at Mount Massive High, Trager took the cake. The upside was that his ridiculous manners kept your attention, the downside is that it could just as easily lose your attention. His way of speaking was monotone, in a way, and if you didn’t watch yourself all the sentences would meld together into one resonating mush of syllables, vowels and consonants that eventually wasn’t even that and just a single-toned hum. That would be the part where you looked out the window and wondered when you could go home.

Most of Trager’s classes were like that; you either paid full attention, or none at all. If he had a body part with him or not didn’t seem to matter in that statement, since Waylon already felt his mind drift away from the classroom and out over the Colorado mountains.

Waylon was in the midst of putting together a new line of code in his head when he became aware that people were starting to pack up their things all around him. With dread he realized that he’d missed the whole lecture. Waylon blinked around sheepishly, as if the answers to what he’d missed would lie within the body language of his classmates, until someone approached his end of the classroom and stopped in front of his desk.

Waylon looked up at them with raised eyebrows.

It was a guy he’d seen around here and there, but never actually spoken to. The sides of his head were shaved like your everyday typical Instagram hipster, and it looked like his shirt would rip if he as much as flexed. Waylon would’ve called it poor judgment, but the fact remained that he actually managed to pull it off in some manner of attractiveness.

_Attractive_? Get your shit together, Waylon.

“Hey,” he said, and the whole situation was made all that more awkward even without Waylon thinking of him as good looking.

“Uh, hi?” Waylon tried feebly. As far as he knew, he didn’t have a beef with this guy, and he hadn’t done anything particularly out of line, so he could be fairly sure he didn’t have to expect a black eye by the end of the day. Unless this was yet another bully looking for a new victim, then he would be in a lot of trouble if he had to keep away from both Jeremy _and_ this guy. All he knew was his name; Eddie Gluskin, which he’d picked up when overhearing people in class.

“Waylon, right? You get really high grades in Math, don’t you?” Eddie said without as much as blinking. It was a bit eerie, actually, the way he stared – like Waylon was a piece of meat. Maybe the chimp arm tickled his appetite.

“Yes?”

Eddie put both his hands down on Waylon’s desk, leaning over slightly while looking off to the side. He seemed unsure of himself.

“I, er...  I was wondering if you could tutor me, maybe. I don’t do so well in that subject, and since you’re so good...” He glanced back at him with prying eyes, looking a bit like a lost, confused puppy.

Waylon’s first decision was to say no. He didn’t know this guy, and he certainly didn’t have the time to lug around anyone else’s weight along with his own, schoolwork-wise. But right when he opened his mouth to tell him off, he realized he could gain something in return out of a deal like this. He didn’t want to be full asshole, so he could just be half-asshole and take advantage of the situation.

“What’s in it for me?” he said critically, and immediately regretted his harsh tone. Why did he always have to act so obnoxious around strangers?

“I can help you with biology,” Eddie replied quickly, like he’d planned it. Shit, he probably noticed Waylon spacing out. He was clever, he’d give him that. He pondered for another second, forehead crinkling as he weighed the pros and cons of having a study buddy. At best, they’d become friends, and Waylon would have an easier time getting his assignments done. At worst, it would mean increased stress and his grades getting worse as a result. But if it didn’t work out, he could always call it off.

“Fine, I’ll tutor you.”

Eddie practically lit up with a wide, rather awkward grin. It was a dramatic shift from his previous small, insecure presence just a few seconds ago, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to handle.

“Brilliant! We can go to a café tomorrow, to start with. I know this great place where I always study. I’ve been there so many times I get discounts,” he said, adding an almost comical laugh at the end of his sentence. “It’ll be great, I just know it will!”

At least he didn’t lack enthusiasm.

Eddie soon excused himself, yet again exclaiming that he was looking forward to their study time, and left Waylon baffled and slightly confused. So now he had a study buddy, out of the blue. It was strange because he knew Eddie usually kept to himself – he hadn’t once thought he’d ever speak to

Sure, it was a welcome variation from Miles’ douchebaggery, but it came so suddenly he didn’t quite know what to think of the situation.

So he was going to tutor a kid from his biology class, and they were going to meet up tomorrow for the first session at some café he didn’t know where it was. It all sounded real fishy, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it now; Eddie was already out and gone.

Sighing and wondering just what he’d signed himself up to, Waylon packed up his things in order to go home. At least if he was going to study tomorrow, that means tonight was free for him to do whatever he wanted. So far there’s been one pro and no cons to this deal, but it was still much too soon to decide on whether it was a good or bad idea.

But for now, he had to get home.

**

“I’m back,” Waylon called as he kicked off his shoes into a corner. The entrance hallway was small but still spacious, mostly because there were currently only two people living in the house.

“How was school?” a female voice called from further into the house; his mom.

“It was okay.” Besides from him being shoved into his locker for probably the millionth time, and arriving in time for a lesson all in vain because of his wandering mind and inability to pay attention.

Waylon continued down the hallway and entered into the open arc to the right, which led to the kitchen. He dropped his bag off in the corner, peering over at what his mother was doing over by the counter.

“What’re we having?” he asked and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Dumplings,” she replied with that big smile she always gave him whenever she was greeted by a kiss. Sure, he was a bit of a mother’s boy, he would be the first to admit that, but who wouldn’t be around this woman. He couldn’t have wished for a better mom.

“Yum,” he said. “Need any help?”

“That would be lovely, Waylon.” He was rolling up his sleeves before she even answered. To be quite honest, he would’ve done so even if she’d said it wasn’t necessary.

“Could you mix the seasoning, pumpkin?”

“On it.” Waylon opened a cabinet and retrieved a bowl, urged into haste by the way his stomach was purring with hunger. First he needed get the garlic.

“Your father called today,” his mother said, sounding hopeful and melancholy at the same time. “Said he’d be home in a couple of weeks, at the very least.” Waylon wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear an answer to the obvious question that prodded at his tongue, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“And at the most?”

His mother paused what she was doing for a moment, and the soft sigh she let out made Waylon’s chest tighten.

“Another six months.”

“Oh.”

They continued to cook in silence, neither of them able to push themselves back into conversation. Not when the third chair remained so gapingly empty at the dinner table. Not when there was a pair of shoes missing by the front door.

“I’ll be home later than usual tomorrow,” Waylon said once he couldn’t stand it anymore. Anything to disperse the choking atmosphere induced by his dad’s absence.

“Are you seeing Miles?”

In her shoes, that would’ve been his first conclusion too.

“No, no it’s someone from class.”

And like every good mother, of course she had to adopt that smug look that meant she was going to pry, and if that didn’t work, she was going to assume the most outlandish things just to get him to spill.

“Is it a _girl_?” The way she dragged out the word girl almost warranted a groan. Couldn’t be more heteronormative than that, could it.

“No, it’s not a girl, mom.”

“ _Ooooooh_ , okay.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Great, is she going to badger him about being gay now, too? She was way too eager for him to settle down, sometimes. Especially considering he wasn’t even considered an adult yet.

She made a cake when he got his first girlfriend.

“It’s not a date. We’re just gonna study.”

“Isn’t that the most common excuse that you teenagers use nowadays?”

“Not this time, mom.”

The skeptical face she made was just to get under his skin, and he knew it. It was successful, though, even if he knew that. He simply shook his head with a frustrated noise and continued to mix the seasoning.

“What’s his name? Is he cute?” Of course she wouldn’t drop it. She would never drop any subject related to any and all of Waylon’s relationships, whether they were just friends or not. In this case they weren’t even friends, so it was even stranger.

“His name’s Eddie.” And he was kind of cute, if he was to be completely honest. Not that he’d say that aloud.

“That does sound like a cute name, though.”

Waylon made a louder noise at this, which earned him a light-hearted chuckle before the two of them resumed cooking. It seemed his mother had her fill of teasing him, for now.

“The seasoning’s done,” he announced, pushing the bowl of the mixture over to her end. She gave it a quick glance before shooting a smile his way, then waved her hand at him.

“You can run upstairs now, sweetie, I can handle the rest.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, run along now.”

Waylon grabbed his backpack and left the kitchen, continuing down the hallway until he reached the staircase which led up to the second floor. He pushed open the door to his room with his foot and tossed his backpack to some remote corner.

His room wasn’t particularly messy, but it wasn’t stark clean either. It was average. It was your standard teenage room with a bed that looked to have been made in a split second, some clothes scattered across the floor that seemed to have been tossed for the purpose of landing on the cushioned chair in the corner, but had fallen short.

Not even a moment later had he swiftly disposed of his jeans, replaced them with more comfortable sweatpants, and taken a seat by the computer that probably hadn’t been shut off in months. It was either running, or in sleep mode, nowadays. Waylon didn’t really have the patience for it to run the whole startup process every time he got home, so he just never shut it off at all.

Waylon stretched his arms up behind his head while he launched the program that contained the code he’d been working on since the start of school. It was about halfway finished, and only because he’d managed to crash the computer hardware at one point and there one was particular line of code that was exceptionally buggy, but other than that it was looking up. He wasn’t even sure what he’d use the custom script for once it was finished, but he supposed he’d figure that out later.

If it ever did work, that is.

And so he cracked his knuckles and got to work, thinking that he’d probably have several lines finished by the time dinner was ready, and after that he could try to look into what he missed during biology. If he couldn’t find that, he’d just have to subtly ask Eddie tomorrow.

He didn’t even realize they hadn’t agreed to a meeting place until the sun had set since long ago.


	2. Not enough coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon does his usual thing, except now there's the problem of meeting up with Eddie...

Waylon jolted awake at the sound of his alarm, nearly falling out of his seat at the shrill noise. Slowly, his mind began to come alive to the fact that he was on the floor with his foot caught in the chair by the desk, stuck in the space between seat and backrest. He’d fallen asleep by the computer, again, and if the burning sensation in his eyes was anything to go by; he hadn’t slept for very long either. A couple of hours, at most.

Groaning heavily enough to physically feel his vocal chords vibrate, Waylon got up on his knees and sluggishly lunged for the clock and more punched than pressed the off-button. The clock tipped dangerously on one end before coming back upright again. Feeling as if it was taunting him, Waylon gave it a shove just to see it fall on its ass, like it deserved to for denying him his sleep. He might as well just set the alarm to _Smack My Bitch Up_ to get in the proper mood every morning.

While attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes, he got to his feet and mindlessly grabbed the closest piece of fabric that resembled a shirt. After confirming that it really was a shirt, he pulled off the one he was wearing and replaced it with the one he’d found, making sure that he didn’t put it on backwards. That had happened once already, and he’d rather not have a repeat of when the girl sitting next to him pointed out his shirt was on backwards.

It was even worse because that girl just happened to be Waylon’s first ex-girlfriend, too.

Even if it had been months since they broke up, there was still a slight tension between them. It didn’t particularly have anything to do with attraction, but it was more of that weird awkward tension when you used to know someone, but then realize that you didn’t really, and then you’re not quite sure how to act around them anymore.

Not that any of Waylon’s relationships had been anything other than casual or out-of-the-blue flings, so he didn’t really actually get to know anyone on a deeper level.

It was kind of strange, really, to adjust to the thought that the deepest relationship he had with anyone was with Miles, of all people. Then again, he was the one that had stuck around with him the longest, and didn’t seem to demand anything other than putting up with his crazy antics without judgment. Waylon wasn’t sure what to think when he realized there wasn’t a person he trusted more than him.

Before he embarrassed himself by going further on that thought, he pulled on yesterday’s jeans and grabbed the backpack slung in the corner. He wasn’t even sure why he lugged it around everywhere; he hadn’t unpacked it since the start of the year. Every lesson was more or less performing an excavation in the mysterious confines of his bag, scouring oust whatever he needed, and later tossing it all back in again without a second thought.

Half-stumbling down the stairs, still caught in a sleepy daze, Waylon made his way to the kitchen to make himself something quick to eat before he left for school – he had about 40 minutes to spare before he had to go, since he’d managed to get up when the alarm urged him to.

That certainly earned him the reward of a bowl of cocoa puffs.

The downside to going to High School at Mount Massive was the mainly the trouble of actually getting there. Waylon didn’t have a license yet, so driving was out of the question, and for whatever reason, principal Wernicke still hadn’t thought to invest some school resources in a bus. Really, it seemed like they more concerned with making money than making sure the students got proper education.

Even so, Waylon was stuck with commuting to the end of town and then walking all the way to school, which would take a considerable amount of time. Not to mention that the road kept going _up_ , so that was a challenge in of itself. What made it worse was that Leadville was in the midst of transitioning from summer to fall, which made dressing for the weather all that more difficult; when Waylon left the house that morning, he was dressed for the chilly morning, but now he was warm and sweaty from the trek along the mountains.

Who thought it was a good idea to open up a school in such a remote location, anyway?

Probably the same office wanker that decided that using an old abandoned Asylum who ran human experiments would be a great facility for education. Really, there was no wonder everyone at this place was more or less freaks – including Waylon – it was probably the bare nature of the school itself. It did feel a bit eerie walking the halls alone, thinking of the history of the place. Sure, it was a bit silly to think of it as haunted, but it did make for good scary stories.

He recalled this particular one about a journalist venturing inside to expose the horrors of the Asylum’s inhumane experiments that he liked. Long story short; he ended up having his fingers cut off, thrown through walls and tossed about like a ragdoll by various inmates and some sort of demon-ghost thing. The ending was ambiguous enough for you to make up what happened to him, yourself, which is what Waylon found so likeable.

He liked to imagine the poor guy lived and managed to publish his article, resulting in the downfall of the corporation behind the asylum. But of course, it was just fiction.

Eventually, he could see the top of the school’s roof in the distance, and he let out a huff of finally as the fleeting sounds of kids talking and doors opening and closing were carried over by the breeze. It was still fairly early, so there weren’t too many students loitering about the front yard. At least Jeremy was nowhere to be seen – but he didn’t see Eddie either, which was a problem since they still needed to actually agree where to meet up after school.

Sighing, Waylon leaned against the wall next to the vending machine a little away from the entrance. The thing was practically covered in graffiti, and it was getting difficult to see what was in it. Not that it mattered; hardly anyone used the thing anyway. It probably hadn’t been restocked in months. Now it was mostly used for vandalizing purposes. It also served as the traditional meeting spot for Waylon and Miles, so he shrugged off his backpack and set it down by his feet and looked around for the familiar brown leather jacket.

While waiting for Miles to show up, Waylon felt the hair in the back of his neck prickle uneasily. It felt like he was being watched, so he looked around the area to find out whether this was true or not. Then his eyes met the wide, unblinking gaze of one disheveled William Hope, and suddenly Waylon understood why he felt so uneasy.

Billy was the local nutcase of Mount Massive High. He used to be a good kid; dressing properly and doing well in school, having a couple of friends you’d see him hang around with – a bit of an oddball, but he was alright. Then something happened last summer and he came back a total wreck. Rumor has it he started doing bath salts and went all sorts of crazy, which wasn’t all that unbelievable, considering his behavior.

Waylon hadn’t seen this _behavior_ for himself, but there were enough outlandish stories for him to consider the probability of Billy’s junkie habits. He sure looked the part, at least, which was a pretty shitty thing to base your opinions on, but still.

He felt sorry for the kid’s parents. More importantly, he felt sorry for Billy.

“You got a pen?” he asked, which wasn’t that odd of a question in an educational setting. What made it odd was the fact that Billy clearly already had several pens crammed into his pocket.

“Don’t you think you have enough?” Waylon asked and pointed towards the stash. Billy looked from Waylon’s finger, down at his pocket, up to the finger again, and lastly Waylon’s face.

“Uh,” he said, then promptly turned around and left.

What the fuck?

Billy definitely started doing something over the summer. Sure, he could be a bit weird sometimes even before but this was just—

“Hey, nerd.”

Waylon turned, and the smell of a lit cigarette hit him before anything. He frowned at the offending stick of cancer, and then let his gaze disapproval move to meet the eyes of the holder of it. And there he was at last, leather jacket and all.

“Are you seriously going to smoke before class?” he said and crossed his arms. It didn’t seem to matter how much he told him to quit, Miles never listened. It was a bad habit, especially at their age, but Miles was stubborn. He’d only quit when he wanted to, no matter what Waylon said.

“Yeah,” came the nonchalant reply, and he took a drag without another word.

Staring apparently didn’t work, because Miles just stared back with that incredibly annoying look of _I don’t care_. He was one of the most frustrating people he knew. Jeremy was still holding onto his champion title of supreme douchebag, but Miles was a definite second place.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” Waylon sighed and leaned against the wall again to wait until Miles finished, which almost certainly would take a while, if he knew him.

“And yet you keep hanging out with me,” Miles said, smirking like the condescending asshole he was. “Didn’t you say I was only slightly better than Jeremy?” So he was going to bring that up, huh. It was just a joke.

“Fine, _a lot_ better. At least you don’t shove me into lockers – you’re a douche in different areas.”

“If you’re gonna be like that, I just might.” Waylon let out a chuckle at that, and the two of them went silent. At least they had ten minutes to go before class started. They shared the next one coming up, for once, and Waylon was relieved at the thought that he could try and retain some sleep and then badger Miles for notes afterwards – that is, if he even bothered to take any. That was more often than not the case, but there was always hope.

“Speak of the devil,” Miles suddenly muttered, and Waylon looked up from having fixed his eyes on his sneakers.

A little ways off, he saw Jeremy approaching the school, and their eyes met for a moment. Waylon couldn’t help but tense up at the sight of him, his body preparing itself to escape regardless if he needed to or not. He swallowed and let out a heavy sigh, looking back on his shoes again.

Miles seemed to notice, and took a short drag of his cigarette before saying, “If he bothers you, I’ll put out my cig on his ugly face.”

“Think that would make it better?” he said sarcastically, and while he appreciated it, he didn’t want Miles to become a target as well – not when he’d only just recently gotten everyone off his back about his sexuality.

“To be honest, his facial situation can only improve, at this point.”

Waylon laughed, unable to hold it back, and Miles joined in soon enough once he decided a self-satisfied smirk wasn’t enough. Or maybe Waylon’s laughter was contagious, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Making fun of people wasn’t really his forte, but Jeremy felt less threatening when they did. It was a reminder that he was just a simple high school bully, and he’d be gone and out of their lives before they knew it. They only had half a year to go, after all.

“Billy spoke to me just before you showed up,” Waylon said suddenly, feeling the strange urge to share the moment before they headed inside for class. Miles quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh really? What crazy talk did he splutter this time?”

“He asked me for a pen, but – get this – his pocket was already full of them. What do you think he’s gonna do with them?”

Miles was quiet for a moment, then he flicked what remained of his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the heel of his boot.

“I would say to cram them up his ass, but I don’t think he’s the type,” he said.

“For fuck’s sake, Miles…”

“Did I ever tell you about that one time I got ink poisoning—“

“Shut up. For the love of God, shut up.”

**

It was a miracle Waylon got through the school day at all; he was in a state of half-sleep most of the time, and if that wasn’t the case he was asleep with his face smushed against the desk somewhere in the far back of the classroom. If only he wasn’t so bad at going to sleep at an appropriate time.

Miles disappeared soon after the bell rang to signal the end of class, muttering something quick about going over to see someone while passing him. Before Waylon could even question who it was that he was going to see, he was gone.  It was suspicious, since Miles was usually so open about who he was meeting up with, when he was meeting them and what he planned to do with them. Waylon would’ve been concerned about that, if it weren’t for the fact that now he had to find Eddie.

Waylon disliked being alone in the schoolyard.

He saw Jeremy Blaire talking to his group of friends, who all would probably grow up to be corporate bastards, like him. He couldn’t help but frown in their general direction, but not straight at them for fear of his glare calling attention to himself.

Correction of previous statement; Waylon _hated_ being alone in the schoolyard with every fiber of his being. Why? Because now he was a target. When someone was nearby him in some form of interaction, be it Billy, Miles, Eddie or even a teacher, he was safe. But alone, he was vulnerable, and he was certain Jeremy would spot him within a second and-

Oh no, he’s seen him. He’s coming over, too. This is it, time to prepare another explanation to why he comes home with a black eye and a split lip. He could probably make something up with falling out of his seat or something along those lines.

“Hi.”

Jeremy had stopped in his tracks, suddenly, and Waylon looked to the side to find Eddie smiling at him apologetically.

“I forgot to say where to meet, didn’t I?” Eddie seemed a bit embarrassed, but Waylon couldn’t be more glad to see him; he’d unknowingly just saved him a beating, and that was enough for him to forgive any blunder he could possibly do today.

“Yeah,” Waylon said, and Eddie sighed, muttering something to himself that Waylon couldn’t make out. “But now we’re here, so I guess we just go to that café you mentioned?”

“Yes! It’s in town, so it’ll be quite a walk there.” Eddie sounded pretty excited about it, which was all well and good if not a bit odd. If Waylon didn’t know better he’d say he seemed to have a crush on him, or something. It wasn’t like they’d ever spoken before this, so that was a pretty far shot.

Waylon gestured towards the road leading away from their school and down the mountain.

“Lead the way.”

There was a sort of awkward silence for most of the way, with valiant attempts at small talk strewn over the course of their walk. But it wasn’t enough to dissipate the air of tension between two people who didn’t know each other, and hadn’t yet found a subject to connect over. Waylon couldn’t imagine having anything in common with Eddie, which made it a lot harder to think of anything to say.

It was their first time hanging out, so he didn’t really expect much from it – he could only curse himself and his persistent shyness. It wasn’t like he was socially awkward or anything, he could well enough socialize with people. It was a lot easier in a group of people; when it didn’t have to rely on him to carry on a conversation. He was quiet, and he’d always had trouble opening up to people.

It was easier with people like Miles who never seemed to shut up unless he was distracted by something, because then Waylon could just sit back and listen without needing to feel pressured into giving any input of his own unless he wanted to.

With Eddie, there was only awkward silence. He really hoped they’d get past that soon.

The café Eddie led him to was a cozy little place in the less trafficked parts of town. It was fairly small, and the interior was pretty old-fashioned, but in a good way. It was a nice place, and Waylon already decided that he liked it. The place was called ‘ _Smalley’s_ ’, and he suspected it was a family business, but he didn’t want to make any judgments.

They stepped inside, and the jingle of bells was a pleasant surprise – Waylon didn’t know why but he’d always been partial to places that had bells to notify a new customer. It just made it seem more welcoming, somehow. He knew he _definitely_ liked the place when he heard smooth jazz played at a low volume.

A woman clad in a bright yellow dress and an apron standing by the counter looked over to them, and her face lit up with a smile of recognition when her eyes landed on Eddie.

“Heya, Eddie! Can I get you anything?” she called, then she spotted Waylon behind him. Even if he wasn’t much of a presence to begin with; Eddie’s sheer size made him even harder to notice. She must’ve been quite perceptive to see him partially hidden by all that tallness.

“Who’s your pal?”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder, then smiled back at the woman rather sheepishly.

“Hi, Bertha. This is Waylon, he’s going to help me with my homework.”

Waylon waved at her, feeling his typical shyness coming in with full force. It was probably because he felt intimidated by how tall and pretty she was; dark curls in a messy bun, bright brown eyes and cute dimples. He couldn’t spot a single imperfection in her dark skin, and wondered if they’d accidentally stumbled upon a secret lair of Godesses or something.

“I see. Tell me if you boys want anything, ‘kay?”

“Will do.”

With that, they sat down at one of the empty tables. Looking around, it showed they had a bunch of customers, but not too many. At the very least they provided a comforting background buzz that made it seem more homely.

“Are you gonna get anything?” Waylon asked once seated, thinking that it’d give them some more means to get comfortable and past the initial awkwardness of not knowing one another.

He shook his head mutely, making a vague gesture with his hand that Waylon wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“I don’t have any money on me,” he said, and Waylon nodded.

“I’ll just have a coffee, then.”

Telling Eddie to wait there, he went over to the counter and made his order with the barista, tapping his elbow impatiently as he waited for his fix of caffeine. Maybe that would succeed to wake him up, since the lessons still hadn’t made that much of an impact on him.

Timing it just before Waylon began nodding off where he stood, the barista approached him with his coffee.

“Your order, sir,” they said while handing it over. He murmured a thank you, feeling awkward at being called ‘sir’ and returned to Eddie, who was literally twiddling his thumbs. He thought it was just an expression for waiting, but here was a guy actually doing it.

~~It was kind of cute.~~

“So, have you got your stuff?” Waylon asked as he sat down opposite of Eddie, warming his hands on the cup of coffee. Eddie gave a nod and pivoted to the side to bring out a notebook, a pencil and a worn out math book that he’d probably gotten from second-hand out of his bag.

“Is there anything specific you have trouble with or do we just shoot?”

“Well, it’s a bit of everything, I suppose,” Eddie replied and looked positively lost. It was a start, at least.

“I guess we just skim over the course until we find the kinks then,” Waylon suggested and pulled out his own notebook. “We could... set up a plan, or something like that.”

Eddie smiled at him, and Waylon took that as he liked the idea.

“You’re already so serious about this; I can tell right now that it’s going to be great.”

At least he was being positive, and it was a little easier talking now that they could actually get started. They had a topic of discussion now, and it was topic Waylon felt confident in; Math.

“I like being thorough,” Waylon said with a shrug. “Go hard or go home, and all that.”

Eddie smiled at nodded – he did that a lot, apparently – and leaned forward as he opened the math book and spun it around for Waylon to see it easier. He placed a finger by a problem, and Waylon took a closer look as Eddie spoke.

“This,” he said. “I sort of understand what I’m supposed to do here, but it doesn’t add up. Either I misunderstood it or I’m missing the mark by a mile.”

It was simple – at least to Waylon, who’d always had it easy with mathematics and understanding, or even coming up with new ways to find a solution. He quickly scanned the whole page, and it was fairly straight-forward what the book wanted you to do.

“It’s easy, really, once you find the way to do it.”

“But I haven’t found it. That’s the problem. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Was that a little attitude he could hear in his voice? He chuckled, shaking his head at himself for stating the absolute obvious.

“I know. Sorry.”

It was getting easier to talk; Eddie seemed less nervous, and he felt less on edge himself, too.

“So what do I do?”

**

“We’re closing in an hour, boys. You might wanna start packing up.”

When Bertha came up to their table, the two of them became acutely aware of the fact that it was getting dark outside, and with that; late.

They’d dropped the subject of math somewhere along the line and instead started talking about their interests. Waylon didn’t even know how it went there, but suddenly he’d found out that Eddie liked to sew, although he rarely ever got the opportunity to do so, and himself he’d gone on an extensive rant about not being able to figure out why his code kept bugging. Eddie probably didn’t understand a word of it, but even if he didn’t he made it out to be so interesting Waylon almost felt embarrassed.

“Oh shit,” Eddie exclaimed, looking over at the clock which hung over the counter, showing that it was indeed 6.49 PM. “Oh no… Shit. I have to- I have to get back home.”

They packed up their things in a rushed silence, and soon found themselves standing outside of _Smalley’s_ unsure of how to say goodbye. The air was tense, again, like when they’d first come here.

“So, uh. Meet up again tomorrow? Outside of school?” Waylon tried, giving Eddie an attempted smile. He nodded, but seemed a bit distant when he did.

“Yeah, sure. I have to hurry, or I’ll… miss dinner. See you tomorrow, Waylon.” He’d already started walking before he finished his sentence.

“See you.” He said it quietly enough to doubt Eddie even heard him.

As he pulled his jacket tighter around him from the evening chill and began making his way home, Waylon just couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie seemed worried about more than just missing dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not nearly as dedicated to Math as Waylon is.
> 
> I’ve already gotten fanart of this and it makes me really happy!!!! Like you wouldn’t believe the screeches I make when I see it. You’re all awesome ok thank you so much. I’m so happy people like this
> 
> Hit me up @ trashtfiction on tumblr for updates and questions !!


	3. He's nice, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles has something to say about Eddie, a school trip is announced, and Waylon is not good for getting into clubs.

It was 7.30 PM when Waylon made it home, just in time for a slight drizzle to start and make him grateful for being indoors before his thin jacket got wet. It wasn’t suited well for rain, especially since it was the same old jacket he wore this spring, and for the last couple of springs, too. He really needed a new jacket.

At the dinner table he suffered through a mildly invasive interrogation about how his meet-up with Eddie went. After giving a satisfying amount of vague answers, Waylon headed upstairs to try and not stay up all night, again, and plopped down in front of his computer. Not long before launching his script did the sudden noise of a message on Skype welcome him home.

_[07:058:30] Miles: hey, call me_

For him to jump onto his Skype this quickly, Miles ought to be sitting on something real juicy and just dying to tell someone. Waylon shrugged to himself and obliged with Miles’ wishes, pressing the button to start a video chat.

It barely rung once before Miles’ dumb grin appeared on-screen.

“Guess who just got laid.”

Waylon couldn’t even bring himself to roll his eyes. It was too typical of him to open a conversation with something like that. Usually, Miles didn’t follow up with any details, thankfully, but Waylon was quick to steer the topic away from that just in case.

“Congratulations, you’ve just angered millions of religious extremists. Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Nah, just wondered why you’re on so late. Can you imagine my shock when I realized I was online before the supreme nerd?”

Waylon fidgeted slightly before answering.

“I was out with Eddie,” he said before he even considered the fact that Miles might not know who Eddie was, so he quickly added, “Gluskin. He’s in Biology with me.”

Miles eyebrow rising along with that stupid, smug grin of his made Waylon almost regret he told him. It was going to become a teasing manifesto and it was going to be embarrassing as well as annoying.

“I thought you were still indecisive about guys. Finally doing try-outs for the other team, huh?”

Waylon’s face died and was immediately buried in his hands.

“No!” he said, frustrated. “That’s not- We weren’t- It’s not like that.” Not that he wouldn’t ever date a guy for the life of him – it was just… Not with Eddie. Besides, Waylon wasn’t all that interested in dating, right now. He was fine being single; Miles provided him with enough dramatic re-enactments of the life of being active on the dating scene to keep him more than sated.

“Oh really,” Miles replied. He sounded skeptical, which was probably more of an extended edition of his teasing. Not a surprise; he’d probably keep it up for the rest of the evening, and most likely let it drag into the next morning as well. He hoped not.

“He’s not bad looking, though.”

“Miles, I’m not going to date him.”

“Too bad.”

They dropped into their usual comfortable silence that was a good chunk of their skype calls; Waylon doing his coding and browsing through forums, while Miles was doing who knows what over at his end. It could range from laughing at people’s blogs to even watching porn (Yes, even while on call with Waylon. The guy had no limits, apparently).

Suddenly, Miles’ grin dropped into one of his rare, serious frowns.

“Be careful around him, though,” he said, and Waylon shifted in his seat at the grave tone of his voice.

“Why?” he asked warily, not sure if he wanted to know or not.

“He’s a bit-- Well, let’s say he’s usually a main component in the schoolyard brawls. He’s got a temper, apparently.”

Waylon found it hard to imagine; Eddie had acted friendly and calm when they’d hung out, he even seemed nervous at first. It was odd to imagine him with bruised knuckles and a nosebleed. Apparently his skepticism was clear on his face, because Miles continued;

“I saw him almost break someone’s arm, once. Think they made a comment about his mother, or something.”

Waylon gulped. That seemed a bit of an extreme reaction, then again he couldn’t help but relate to it, at this distance. Waylon was very protective of his mother, considering she was working very hard to provide for him while his father was overseas. Not to mention that race often played into it, as well.

“I’ll be careful not to piss him off, then,” Waylon said, not wanting to continue on that subject and promptly distracting himself from it by searching for relevant threads on internet forums. The silence return, although several times more tense than usual. It made the hair in the back of Waylon’s neck prickle with discomfort.

 

Waylon was wholly focused on a forum discussion pertaining to his particular problem with his code when Miles spoke up again, and he had to ask him to repeat what he said.

“I asked what you two did do, since it wasn’t a date.”

“Oh, uh.. He asked me to tutor him in math,” Waylon replied, relieved that the conversation carried on to more casual areas; areas in which he didn’t have to defend himself against Miles’ snarky comments about his non-existant romantic life. He hadn’t dated anyone in a long time and he didn’t exactly feel ready to start again.

“Sounds like a teen drama, to me,” Miles said and folded his arms behind his head.

“No it doesn’t. Besides, Eddie probably isn’t even into guys.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What, and you do?”

“If I ever speak to him personally, I might. I can smell my kind.”

He even went so far as to tap his nose, the absolute loser. Waylon rolled his eyes, as he often did when speaking to Miles. He was that blend of embarrassing and cocky that came together and made him intolerable but alluring all at once. Yes, Waylon would be the first to admit he was attractive, but he knew they were far too different - and, in a way, too alike - for anything to ever work out between them.

It’s not like they hadn’t tried - or, well, not officially - because Waylon knew what Miles’ lips tastes like, however much that thought made him squirm with embarrassment. Even more awkward, and even a bit shameful, was the thought that he knew what Miles mouth felt like in other places, as well.

But they never became more than friends. Friends who’d experimented, granted, but still just friends. That was part of the reason why Waylon trusted him so much, because behind all that attitude was a kind heart, mindful of others and their feelings. When Waylon had been uncertain, Miles had stepped back until they came to agree that they were better off not going further.

There was always that slight pull, though, the faint reminder of you can try again that fluttered in and out of thought on occasion. But all it took was a recollection of why he’d hesitated, why he’d prickled with doubt when hands slipped underneath clothes, and the fluttering ceased for a while. It simply wasn’t to be.

Their conversation lasted for about two more hours until Miles announced he had to get to bed, since he had an early morning class the next day. He didn’t miss telling Waylon not to stay up too late before he hung up, though, and once again Waylon fluttered in the face of Miles’ subtle care before goodnights were swapped and he was alone in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by the light of his computer screen.

Embarrassed by himself once more, he decided it’d be better if he just went to bed as well and slept off all the weird feelings to help them settle.

 

**

 

Last class of the day was Biology, which meant Eddie would almost certainly talk to him. Waylon came into class early, with only three other kids present in the room.

Waylon took to scribbling lines of code in his notebook as he waited for time to pass, now armed with new knowledge from last night’s trudging through forum threads. Maybe finally he’d be able to figure out just why the software kept bugging. He’d managed to pin down where the problem was, but not what or why - which was possibly the most frustrating stage of solving a problem.

Suddenly a bag that surely had seen better days plopped down in the seat next to him, and he looked up to see Eddie smiling at him, as expected.

“Can I sit here?” he asked, inclining his head towards the seat.

“Yeah! Yeah, sure,” Waylon said and sat up straighter, pulling his things closer to his side of the desk to make room from for any materials Eddie might take out. He watched him as he sat down, taking note of the shadows under his eyes. Did he have trouble sleeping?

“Make it home alright, yesterday?” Waylon asked, more out of courtesy than curiosity, really. Not that he didn’t care, but he didn’t really consider Eddie to be close enough to be of a bigger concern to him.

Eddie’s jaw moved as he swallowed, and he tugged the collar of his shirt further up.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking ahead and not meeting Waylon’s eyes.

He was suddenly reminded by Miles’ warning from last night; be careful around him, and that was all it took for him to become uncertain whether it was a good idea to tutor him again.

“Uhm,” he started, and Eddie shifted just enough to indicated he was listening. “So, did you want to get together after school today, as well?” The words sounded odd, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he cursed the poor choosing of them.

“I can’t,” Eddie replied, still not looking at him. “I forgot to mention it yesterday; I have work today.”

“Oh, okay.” To be honest, Waylon was a little bit relieved. Miles’ warning rang clear in his head, and it was amplified with how odd Eddie was acting this morning. He seemed a lot more distant.

“Where do you work, if you don’t mind me asking?” Still, Waylon felt inclined to carry on a conversation while they waited for Trager to show up and start class.

“Mad Hatter Antiques, on Poplar Street,” Eddie answered, keeping everything he said very short and curt. Despite being generally responsive vocally, he sat almost rigid in his seat. “I work part-time after school a few days a week.”

“That’s too bad, I was looking forward to it.” That was a lie. It probably wouldn’t have been, before, but now Waylon felt wary of him, no matter how guilty he also felt because of that. Nevertheless, he just had to say it, thinking it would cheer him up a little. Waylon generally didn’t like it when others were down in the dumps, and it was easier to relax around Eddie when he was smiling.

It worked, to some degree, because finally Eddie turned his head to look at Waylon, the slightest of apologetic smiles tugging at his lips.

“Sorry, I was looking forward to it, too,” he said, and as he smiled back, Waylon suddenly found he didn’t want to take the suggestion to be cautious all that seriously.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the sudden entrance of Trager, gliding in soundlessly as he always does, who announced his arrival by going off in his usual half-bored, half-amused voice.

“Hey kids, got some papers here for ya,” he said, patting a wad of papers he was holding with the back of his hand. “Dunno if y’all know, but yer going on a trip to the mountains for a couple o’ days. Would be real great if ya could get your parents to sign ‘em, or we can’t bring ya along. ”

He dropped the papers on his desk with that special sort of Trager-nonchalance that only he seemed to possess and gestured at them.

“I didn’t bother to count ‘em so I just grabbed a bunch. If yer left without one yer gonna have to go ask for one at the teachers’ office.”

Obviously, he wasn’t going to hand them out to everyone himself, since he remained firmly in place behind the desk. Waylon stood up with a sigh, muttering ‘I’ll grab one for you’ to Eddie as he went past him and towards the desk, feeling weirdly exposed by Trager’s unsettling staring, and returned to his seat with two papers. He handed one of them over to Eddie while he read his own.

It was a brief summary of the purpose of the trip (teambuilding, exercise and fun - it was pretty lame), how long it would be and the precautions and risks involved with hiking in the mountains, and a place for the student’s guardian to sign their permission. The trip would last over the weekend, and they would go via bus early friday morning further into the mountains until they reached the designated campsite. Breakfast, lunch and dinner would be provided, but students are allowed to bring their own food (and snacks). Students are recommended to bring their owns tents, as well, though tents will be provided to those without.

Waylon would definitely share one with Miles.

“Sounds fun,” he said while folding it to put it away in his backpack. Next to him, Eddie gave a hum while he still seemed to be reading it carefully. “At least if the forecast is in our favor. Being stuck out in the mountains  in a storm would be awful.”

Eddie hummed again, eyes fixated on the line for the guardians’ signature.

“So you’re going?” Eddie said. Waylon nodded, and then after realizing Eddie wouldn’t see it, considering he was still glued to the paper, he said yes. Eddie looked over at him in a tense, apprehensive couple of seconds, then back at the paper.

And without further ado, Eddie picked up a pen and forged his parent’s signature.

 

**

 

“So this weekend’s taken, then.”

After school, Miles had found Waylon and managed to drag him out to to the Evergreen Cemetery, which while it sounded depressing was pretty much the only official park of Leadville, besides the St Joseph Cemetery, of course. It did have a calm, tranquil atmosphere, though, however melancholy it was. There was always the lake, but the two of them were too tired - or too lazy - to go there.

“Yeah?” Waylon was idly running his fingers through the grass, enjoying how they tickled his open palm. “What, did you have other plans, or something?”

“Not anything solid, was just thinking of going out,” Miles said, and for once he wasn’t smoking. Probably due to where they were - respect for the passed, and all that. “Gonna have to make a change of plans. C’mon.” When Miles suddenly turned to walk back towards the town, Waylon scrambled to his feet in a bout of confusion.

“What, are we going out now?” he said, despite already knowing the answer. “We have school tomorrow!”

“Not that it matters, in your case. You stay up all night regardless,” Miles shot back over his shoulder, smirking at him in that manner he always did when he knew he’d stumped Waylon’s protests before they could lift from the ground.

“Yeah, but I’d rather be tired than hungover.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Way. We haven’t even gotten close to a bar, yet.”

Waylon sighed heavily as he rushed to catch up to Miles, fishing his phone out of his jacket’s pocket with a sour expression.

“Alright, fine. Just let me text my mom I’ll be late--” He pressed the home button once, twice, several times, but the screen remained black. With a sinking feeling, he realized he’d forgotten to charge the battery last night and as such, the battery was dead and done for. “Great,” he muttered as he shoved it back into his pocket. “We can’t be for long, though. I don’t want mom to worry.”

Miles just gave a reassuring pat on his shoulder along with a grin as they continued into town. Waylon had no idea how he was planning to get in anywhere, despite having gotten hold of a fake ID, somehow, what with Waylon being distressingly short - not to mention the backpack he was lugging around. Only an idiot would think of him as anything else than a high school student.

On his own, Miles might’ve had a chance of getting in, but with Waylon trudging along with him, they were slim to none.

Within minutes, the two of them found themselves on the corner with a club just down the road from them. There was a small group of people smoking outside, so Miles was biding his time until they left. It was easier to appeal to the doorsman if there was no one else around that might push him towards upholding strict protocol. The two of them were simply watching them, when suddenly a voice behind them made them jump nearly two feet in the air.

“Hi there, Waylon!”

They spun around, and Waylon instantly recognized Bertha from Smalley’s café. She was looking as pretty as last time he saw her, if not prettier, and obviously dressed for an evening out. Waylon had to swallow twice before he found his voice.

“Hi, Bertha,” he said, trying not to sound shy, but friendly instead. “Funny running into you here.” He could feel Miles’ eyes on him, but he ignored him for now. Bertha, however, did not, and held her hand out to him.

“I’m Bertha, nice to meet you!” she said, all dimples and smiles, and Miles mirrored her friendly demeanor and took her hand in a firm shake. For some reason, it made Waylon feel like less of a high schooler and more of a young adult. He didn’t quite know what to think of that.

“Miles. How do you know Waylon?” Miles said, giving Waylon a meaningful sideways look that he had no idea what to think of. Bertha laughed, probably because of how Waylon squirmed under Miles’ look and shook her head.

“We met yesterday, at my family’s café. It was a nice surprise to see Eddie bring someone along, for a change.” She paused for a moment, looking between the club and them. “You’re not planning to try and get in there, are you?” she said, suddenly serious.

Miles laughed, and was quick to shoot the question down, “Of course not! What makes you think that?” It was enough to make her doubt, but not to convince her. She just sighed softly and shook her head once more, making her curls dance all over the place, especially now when they weren’t tied back.

“I just can’t let you kids run off into trouble, then I’d be a terrible role model,” she said, then gave one last smile. “Well, I’ll see you around. My friends are waiting for me.”

And with exchanged goodbyes, she was gone, joining up with the group outside and walking inside with them. Waylon sighed. The silence that followed, and the way Miles was looking at him, made going home sound like a very nice idea.

“Are we going in or not?” Waylon said, sounding a bit more irritable and snappish than he intended, turning to give Miles a half-glaring frown that basically meant stop giving me that look. Miles just laughed at his reaction, clearly amused, and tugged on Waylon’s jacket as he passed and steered towards the entrance to the club.

 

Not ten minutes later, Waylon was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a building, with Miles smoking angrily next to him. Of course they didn’t get in, not with Waylon looking like he was coming straight from school - which he was, more or less. As he was thinking about this and that, his mind couldn't help but wander back to what Bertha had said; it's nice to see Eddie bring someone for a change. So, he really was as lonely as Waylon would come to expect. It was a bit sad, really, to think that he didn't have any friends. It also made him feel a bit responsible over him, that he should do something to change that.

Being alone sucked, and Eddie seemed like a nice guy, so he couldn't see why he shouldn't try to actually befriend him. Maybe he could ask him for his contact information, one of these days. Maybe even try to include him whenever Miles got an idea of what to do with a boring Saturday night. Of course, it didn't always mean his ideas worked, per se, but the more the merrier, right?

“That went about as well as one would expect,” Waylon said quietly as he fiddled with his thumbs. Miles let out a scoffing noise next to him, obviously not appreciative of the comment.

“Shut up, Waylon. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Waylon just rolled his eyes and stood up, brushing himself off after sitting on the dirty ground. He took a deep breath as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, turning to look at Miles.

“There’s no point in wasting time here,” he said. It was dark outside, and he was tired of just sitting around when there were better things he could do; like get his mom to sign the papers for the school trip, and trying to debug his code. He waited impatiently for Miles to finish his cigarette and put it out on the ground. and shove his hands into his pockets with a sour look.

“Whatever, let’s just go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates.. this chapter was really kicking my ass and i had trouble getting motivated, and that's probably why it ended up being so short. However!! I am really excited about the upcoming chapters so look forward to those


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